# 8

# guide.

Over the ten years that I ‘got’ to have Keeley, I can look back and see the guide that she was. Keeley was an external reference point to what I couldn’t yet experience on my own…my set point, my equilibrium.

As discussed and confirmed: I loved Keeley. In the midst of what I would call my suffering, which included me taking on other’s energy and not knowing how or what to do with it and, as a result, continuing to feed this powerless state, Keeley held the space of love. The space that exists, the space of wellbeing, of balance, not too much, not too little, enough.

To receive the love, I only needed to be open to it. When you are the dog owner (or the parent, the teacher, the person in the perceived role of power) you assume you are the one in charge, the one that others rely on and need in order to function, to exist. I suppose there is evidence to support this.

When I would get stuck or consumed, I would think of Keeley and feel relief in my body. Love. She existed. I got to go home to Keeley. I got to cuddle with Keeley. Intentionally creating the audible sound of Keeley’s breath in my imagination became a skill I used often to slow down when I first began to practice mindfulness.

The interesting thing about dogs, and this experience of love, was that the dog holds this space and all the human can do is allow it. One cannot consume the dog. The dog has these natural boundaries that ‘force’ you to just accept the feeling, to allow the feeling. This experience is available often in nature when we allow it, when we open up to it. The awe of existence.

Why would someone EVER do something unkind and dismissive of that which they genuinely felt such a pure love for?

Insert judgment.

Insert comparison.

Insert criticism.

Judgement, comparison, and criticism is a double edged sword. An assumption that there is ultimately a right and a wrong. If you have read the story up to this point, you can reference back to the wild section. Keeley and I were wild together in the dry riverbed of the Soboba Indian reservation. Keeley was free - gawd was she ever free, and I desired to be free. What a match. In the riverbed, the unspoken rule was that there were no rules. Everyone who entered did so on their own volition - there were no laws or governing bodies. It was just a huge expansive space of unknown, in Keeley and my case.

And then we moved to Denver.

One of my first desires when I moved to Denver was to find the ‘space’ to run and be free. I assumed the people in Denver appreciated space and freedom as much as I did - it was the Rocky mountains. The biggest and best dry riverbed EVER!

I did not like to have Keeley on a leash. It seemed totally reasonable, and totally Denver, to me. Let’s just say that Denver and Colorado are two different mindsets. For the sake of telling a story, I am creating broad themes that connect to bigger ideas - but I was a nieve, inexperienced, and largely clueless dog owner. I was definitely the owner that assumed all other humans loved and appreciated Keeley as much as I did - how could they not, right? Lesson learned.

I do.not.even. know where and what to tell and share here - there are so many instances. There was the woman at the dog park who told me that my dog was a pit bull and that pit bulls were ‘put down’ in Denver. It was the law. There were the dog fights…the forever presence of the potential dog fight that I eventually clued into and attempted to steer away from. I just wanted to run free and wanted Keeley to run free. I assumed that dogs had a way that they figure their shit out. Keeley was WILD. I was wild. Together we were a disaster in the open space where laws and rules were to be followed.

The Cherry Creek reservoir open space dog park eventually beat me into submission to the point where I assumed that no other human liked Keeley, that they were all scared of her, and they all judged me to be a lacking, unskilled dog owner that really should not have a dog. So now we go from totally untamed to tame, with no space in the middle.

The projection of what I was going through in my inside world, to my outside world at the time, is becoming even more clear. Keeley’s external experience was a reflection of my inner experience that was not available, or I was not available to see it yet. I was in grad school. Holy hell of two years. All previous beliefs - religious and political, dominant views, etc - all completely disrupted - tossed up and spinning wildy in the wind to eventually settle, but not for what seemed an eternity. There was something about grad school from the first seat I took in class. I knew I was there to receive and not share.

There was the time Keeley jumped out of the back car window, the time Keeley took off after something and we lost each other - several walkers had seen a dog howling in the parking lot.. ‘I’m coming Keeley!’, the multiple times she went after the horses - there were stables connected to the open space park and on the weekends there were family trail rides THROUGH the dog park - (Keeley was not the only one disrupting that situation), there was the time she nipped the butt of the man in the service uniform, the puncture wound to my friend’s dog when we arrived after a long trip in the car. The road trips. Many road trips with Keeley.

Keeley and I finally gave up on the open space dog park (much to other’s appreciation) and began running on streets using an extended leash really early in the morning. Keeley and I ran most early mornings of most of her life. We also went on crazy long walks quite often on the weekends. I was addicted to movement and exercise, and I felt guilty for not being home so much during the week. So the win-win was running together in the early morning, and then the afternoon early evening walk was bonus.

There had always been moments to capture the love. The space of the dog park held the possibility of freedom, and the moments of bliss. Aside from the mine traps of dog fights and horse chases, there was another riverbed that was often flowing. I had at least a 4 mile open run in the reservoir, with about 2 miles running along the river (maybe 20 feet wide and 3 feet at the deepest, unless there was a lot of rain or snow to really get it moving). I would run on the trail, and Keeley would run through the water. There were pockets of water that were insane for dogs - I called it Doggie Disneyland. I found the ‘ponds’ that were off the main path. One had a bench. Not sure why not many people and dogs landed there. It might have been that we were there (?) After the run - sometimes I ran it twice, I would sit and Keeley would be in the water. There was plenty of bliss when I was available to it. Oh the space. The sky. The dirt path. The runs that felt so effortless at times. The times it felt like all the suffering was a mistake, and now it would be okay. Not true at the time - my peace was still a ways from being something I knew how to sustain - but it felt so good, I would think to myself in these moments, it had to be like this.

Anxiety had never really been my thing. Depression was it. Depression and anxiety often seem to show up together with the students I have worked with over the years. I had a panic attack, or what I would call a panic attack, one time at the dog park that made me forever empathetic to the students, or to adults, that speak of anxiety. I was in the space of the park. The setting was cued. There was wide open space, I was running, Keeley was behaving. Something just attacked me on the inside. I couldn’t escape. All this freedom, space, movement outside and something inside was on attack - I couldn’t run fast enough. I couldn’t do anything. It had a grip. I think I cried and just kept running, eventually to the car. I’m not sure what happened next. I was years from meditating and having any true skills, other than medication, to help me. I ran. I no longer journaled. I watched Sex and the City. I called my parents and complained which only made it worse. They got upset, and my dad would try to fix it by asking if quitting (grad school) was an option. Not sure about the panic attack - it must have just run its course.

So that’s a lot of wild and untamed. When we moved back to the city after the Breckenridge summer, Keeley and I walked and ran in a really nice neighborhood, probably the nicest neighborhood in Denver - Country Club they call it. We steered clear of all other dogs. Moving to the other side of the street way ahead of possible meetings. Avoid.

I was allowing other people the power. Partly, I did need to be a responsible pet owner. The broader piece was my fucked up belief where I continually assumed I was doing something wrong. Never good enough. Never enough. Keeley was not at fault. I didn’t teach Keeley. I was the fuck up.